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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795996">From The Torchlight’s Graze</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emperor_Quarter/pseuds/Emperor_Quarter'>Emperor_Quarter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It just happened, Nonbinary Marc Anciel, Other, Sorta slowburn, Witch Trials, hi Alex I love yooouuuu, i did not control it, it’s angsty my dudes, ive got a whole world for this but brain said no, like medium fantasy, not dark not light... medium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:41:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emperor_Quarter/pseuds/Emperor_Quarter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathaniel just wants to get away from the torches and pitchforks.</p><p>Marc just wants to know why a random man showed up at their house, injured and unconscious.</p><p>Somehow, it works out.</p><p>Eventually.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From The Torchlight’s Graze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/da_artist_person_13/gifts">da_artist_person_13</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heyheyhey Alex,,,, ily 💜💜💜</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel really, really hates running in the woods at night.</p><p>There was yelling throughout the forest, calls of angry villagers rushing through the foliage. Nathaniel clutched his rucksack closer, gripping and stumbling over the leaves and rocks on the ground. He got up immediately, glancing backwards at the oncoming mass a few times before running further.</p><p>They did not stop, and he began to hear horses running. Nathaniel felt tears stinging his eyes, picking up his pace quicker and quicker. He ran as fast as his legs would take him, ducking under bushes and rounding clumps of trees. He ran over a stream to try and lose them, but ultimately it wouldn’t work. The hounds were too good of trackers, they would find him eventually.</p><p>He stopped, leaning against a tree for a second to catch his breath. He pulled his sack tighter over his shoulder, checking the contents were still in there. They were, and he sighed in relief. </p><p>Immediately, he heard the cries from the horse riders, and adrenaline shot through him as he rushed onward, not looking back this time. The moonlight barely peered over the canopy of the trees, making it harder and harder for Nathaniel to see. The stars scattered between the holes of the branches provided no light, and he knew he was going to be running blind soon enough. </p><p>The foliage was getting thicker, and he could barely see his hand in front of his face. He stumbled again, nearly twisting his ankle in some sort of hole and just barely missing running into a tree. He really wished he had time to pick up a lantern before they came after him.</p><p>After a few more close calls, his luck started running out. He ran through a briar bush, scraping himself and wincing in pain. He ran headfirst into a tree, nearly breaking his nose and banging his head roughly against it.</p><p>Sooner or later, something worse would happen.</p><p>This was true, as he fell quickly off a cliff.</p><p>He barely even realized what was happening before he stepped into thin air and went down, all he knew was there was a free fall and suddenly just crack.</p><p>Right behind Nathaniel, the mob approached the cliff mere seconds later, torches lit as they leaned over the side peering down the cliff-face as the horseman whistled their hounds back. “Nobody would survive that fall,” one of the horsemen says, turning his steed around. “We have killed the witch, let us go back now.”</p><p>Saddened, the mob starts walking away. </p><p>At the bottom, Nathaniel gently stood up, searching for his bag. He fished it from between some rocks, examining the dark stains on the rocks where he had fallen. He tugged on the straps of his bag, before walking on, this time much slower. </p><p>He was a little dizzy from the fall, sometimes the world in front of him spun a bit, and he held on to a tree. It does not completely take away side effects of fatal injuries, apparently, he noted, sitting against a tree and breathing. He closed his eyes for a millisecond, before realizing it was not wise to do so. He cracked them open against his want to sleep, slowly standing up and moving on forward. Whatever head damage he sustained was not good, sleeping now could cause him not to wake up again. He was bleeding from the thorns, and bumped his head numerous times, which could lead to really bad things happening if he didn’t find some sort of civilization soon. He had to keep walking.</p><p>But the sleepiness seeped into his bones. He was exhausted from running. He had run at least three hours straight, high on adrenaline. He was crashing, and forcing himself to keep his eyes open. He steered himself in a random direction, hoping there was a village of some sort nearby.</p><p>Nathaniel walked for what felt like eons, his boots taking longer and longer to lift from the ground. His head was spinning and he could barely tell up from down. This wasn’t good. He had to find someone, somewhere, that hopefully wouldn’t recognize him.</p><p>Nathaniel stumbled a few more steps, before finally seeing some sort of lantern. Or, at least, he hoped it was a lantern. It was a yellow light, so he thought it was good enough. He shuffled forward a little bit, foot hitting something solid. He reached down, feeling and finding it was some wooden stairs. He smiled, immediately collapsing in front of them.</p>
<hr/><p>Marc was just about to go to bed when they heard a loud noise.</p><p>They had just done their last rounds in their greenhouse, double-checking it was sealed and nothing could get in. They moved back into his cottage and placed the lantern near the bedside table. They walked to the fireplace and flicked some of the water at the fire, watching it slowly go out. They made sure the embers had cooled, before settling into bed. They were just about to blow out the lantern when they heard a thump outside. </p><p>Quickly, they grabbed their lantern and a pot, walking outside. Their lamp lit by magick hung outside, burning throughout the night so that any traveler may find their cottage, which was the only person until they reached a small town another five miles away. </p><p>Opening the door slowly, Marc saw a figure lying at the bottom of the stairs. They mumbled a curse under their breath, running down the stairs and turning the person over. They had a little blood on their head, from what might have been a head wound. Marc pulled them inside, placing them on the bed as they set the fire back up and grabbed his medical supplies. </p><p>They looked over the person, finding multiple thorn wounds, some with the plant still in that he had to pry away and clean up. There was blood on his head, and Marc reached over to heal it. Droplets of magick fell from their hands like water, healing over the wound as they wetted another rag to soak up the blood. Marc pulled off the man’s shirt, finding no signs of internal bleeding or broken bones. They raised a hand and checked the rest of him, but everything was fine. </p><p>After they stabilized the man and left them to rest on the bed, they pulled off the bag that was tightly winded around him, settling it on the side of the bed. They checked the man’s temperature repeatedly, finding no fever, and decided to pull out a bedroll and get some rest as well. </p><p>They put out the fire, and infused the lamp nearby with magick in case the person awoke while it was still dark. They sent small safety spells on everything in his cottage, just for measures in case the person fell on something or worse, thought they were hostile and attacked them. They paused to look at the rucksack, opening it for a minute to ensure there were no weapons in there.</p><p>Other than a small waterskin and a wrapped up loaf, there was simply a painting in there. It shone in the light, and Marc realized it was a self portrait of the man. His blue-green eyes twinkled on the canvas, but his mouth was in a half scowl. There was a small scar on his cheek that Marc hadn’t noticed on the person, but other than that it matched perfectly.</p>
<hr/><p>Nathaniel woke up, eyes blinking against the harsh light of the sun blaring through windows. He turned his head away from it, squeezing his eyes shut. He really didn’t want to wake up yet, he had been running so long and he was still tired. </p><p>Suddenly, he remembered what happened, and his eyes flew open. He struggled to sit up, headache forming as he did. Oh, that hurt a lot.</p><p>“Whoa, there,” a voice says, hands gently pushing him down, “your head is hurt, you should rest for a bit.”</p><p>Nathaniel tries to turn his head towards the voice, and realizes it hurts to do so. Well fun, now he's just stuck here with a mysterious voice that could absolutely be a murderer. And Nathaniel was stuck in bed. Great.</p><p>“You took quite a blow to the head, I was scared you wouldn’t make it,” the voice says, and Nathaniel raises his hands to make a sort of shrug.</p><p>“I’m a very resilient person,” he replies, and the voice laughs. It’s very bold, but light at the same time. There’s almost a snort in there but the person holds back. Nathaniel smiles, keeping his eyes shut against the searing lights. “Hey, not to be pushy, but could you pull some curtains over the windows a bit? Your patient is starting to get a headache, and I really don’t want my head drilled, however appealing that sounds at the moment.” The pressure in his head hurt, and he went to rub at it but the person caught his hand.</p><p>“Don’t touch your head, you could infect the wound, but would have more of a chance of just irritating it and it would hurt more. I’ll close the windows.”</p><p>Huh, he thinks, usually he wouldn’t get this hurt. Though again, the cliff falling and tree-smacking was purely on accident, so maybe whatever being out there hated him and decided to let him suffer a bit. “So, Doc, how long am I stuck here?” he asks, and the person hums.</p><p>“Your wound was only blunt trauma, I didn’t find any shrapnel and your skull didn’t chip. Maybe a week or so? I’ve never had a handsome person just drop on my doorstep with blood rushing out their head.”</p><p>Nathaniel elected to ignore the handsome part, and waved his hand around. “I’m Nathaniel, and you are?”</p><p>There was a slender, firm hand that gripped his, shaking it gently. Nathaniel opened his eyes a crack, and found them fairer than his own, nails near perfect and completely clean. They were tanned a little from the sun, and calloused from outside work, but not from farming. “I’m Marc,” the voice said, and a face leaned just into his viewpoint. </p><p>And oh, they were gorgeous. Bright green eyes stared at them, alight with caution and pink lips formed a smile. There were slight freckles across their cheeks, which weren’t paled by powders like the nobles nor sun-beaten and tan from farmers, but somewhere in between. Nathaniel paused for a second, blushing. Marc tilted their head, before standing up and smoothing out their dress. It was a dark red color with black lacing, and Nathaniel couldn’t stop staring until Marc left his viewpoint. </p><p>There was a crackle from in front of him, and Nathaniel strained to look without moving his head too much. Marc gave another laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m just making some broth, to see how it goes down for you.” Nathaniel relaxes a little bit, and Marc hums a time. </p><p>“Thank you for saving me,” Nathaniel says, and Marc stops, “I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t find your cottage. Say, why are you living all the way out here? I don’t think I was that dizzy, but I didn’t see any other lights nearby.”</p><p>Marc doesn’t make a sound for a small bit, and Nathaniel realizes he might have hit a nerve. “Oh,” he says softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>“No,” Marc interrupts quickly, walking back to the bed and settling down on the side. They rub the back of their neck and smile reassuringly. “It’s alright. I suppose it’s the most logical question, I don’t mind. It was, um, because of witchcraft. One of the kids in my village got sick. She was going to die, and the idiotic doctors were only killing her further. I… snuck in one night and healed her, but her father was awake. Nearly killed me himself. I barely got away alive.” They paused, staring into space for a moment and fiddling with the hem of their sleeve. “I suppose wearing dresses didn’t help very much,” they admitted. </p><p>Nathaniel pauses for a minute. “You are not—?”</p><p>Marc pats his shoulder gently. “Whether I am a man or a woman is no concern of yours. You really should be more concerned about me admitting to being a witch then what is between my legs.” They cover their mouth after that, just realizing what they said.</p><p>There’s a slight pause, and the color drains from Nathaniel’s face. Marc panics for a second. “Not all witches are Satanic, I promise! I only really work with the nature magicks!” </p><p>Nathaniel blinks at them, not quite understanding. “Oh,” he says, still a little confused. </p><p>Marc laughs again, and moves out of his sight. He can just hear the sound of the ladle dipping into the broth and filling a bowl. Marc returns, holding a steaming bowl in their hands and setting it next to Nathaniel. “It will need to cool for a few minutes,” they say, “but in the meantime I will see if we can get you upright. If you feel dizzy at all please tell me.”</p><p>Marc gently tugs under Nathaniel’s arms, and for the first time he realizes just how strong Marc is. His head does alright, Marc reaches to hold it in place which leads to an interesting position but neither comment on it. They immediately place a thin pillow against the wall to make it more comfortable, and finally Nathaniel can get a better view of Marc’s cottage.</p><p>It is big, by one-person-living-in-it standards, but is still somewhat cluttered by shelves of jars and books. The kitchen is on the other side of the one-room-area, and there’s two doors, one which he doesn’t know where it leads to. There's a tiny dining table and a single chair near it, and past that on the other side a fireplace looming. It’s cozy, in a way, and Nathaniel almost forgets he’s in a witch’s house. Marc smiles faintly at him and stares at  the bowl, which sits on a nearby shelf and has cooled off significantly. They pull the bowl off and sits next to him on the bed. </p><p>“Are you able to move your arms around?” they ask. Nathaniel lifts them up before spinning them in circles. Marc nods. “Your abilities may still be a little impaired from the accident, let me hold onto the bowl.” They keep the bowl in a close distance, and it proves useful as Nathaniel drops his first bite back into the bowl. He grumbles a bit, picking it back up and trying again. It takes three tries (one of which he isn’t very lucky and spills on his clothes) before finally maneuvering it to his mouth. It tastes bland, and he makes a face.</p><p>Marc gives him an anxious smile, looking down for a second. “I know it does not taste good, but I wanted something easy on your stomach. The herbs in there probably don’t help with the taste either, but they’ll help you heal faster. Tell me if you feel nauseous, I have a bucket down here.” They kick in a direction Nathaniel can’t see, and there’s a small metallic noise. </p><p>“Alright,” he says, fighting the urge to nod.</p><p>Marc smiles, standing up after Nathaniel finished the bowl and going back to the fire pit.</p>
<hr/><p>It had been two months since the incident, and Nathaniel’s head had completely healed. Marc had allowed him to stay after that with no questions asked, but Nathaniel was beginning to think that Marc was growing suspicious of why he had showed up that night.</p><p>In the time he spent there, he learned that Marc had a garden outside through the other door, and it was covered in light sheets that let the light shine through. There were some hay bales stacked around the garden, probably for insulation. Marc tended to everything there, from herbs to vegetables to flowers, it was extraordinarily big and clustered and probably had every plant in the world. They liked to sing as they worked, adjusting the sun and watering, sometimes trimming them a bit. </p><p>Nathaniel liked to watch, eventually deciding to help as Marc taught him what to do. The plants got done in half the time, which left plenty of time for Nathaniel and Marc to talk.</p><p>Eventually, Nathaniel let slip that a person in his village watched him drink enough to get drunk with no effect, and decreed him a satanic worshipper, spreading the word across the town before everyone was hunting him down. Marc tilted their head in curiosity, and Nathaniel sighed.</p><p>He fiddled around for his bag, which had been handing on one of the shelves. He pulled out the painting, carefully, delicately, like one slip up and it might break. “I am a painter,” he says, staring at it for a second, “I had worked on many things, this was the first time I wanted to paint myself. I had no vain reasons, I had no inspiration and nothing to paint. So I decided why not? Guess I must have drawn myself too beautifully, or trimmed my figure too much, because it caused a curse.”</p><p>“A curse?” Marc asks, and Nathaniel nods.</p><p>“Any sins I commit are transferred to this painting, slowly twisting it uglier and uglier,” he says, hugging his knees.</p><p>Marc looks at the painting. There are a few blemishes on it, and the scar and the scowl, but nothing else. “Do you know what will happen if it—?”</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel says, “I am still trying to figure out what causes it, what is considered a “sin”. Currently, I’ve found that eating or drinking too much, hurting myself without causality that makes it unavoidable, or... desires, is “sinful”,” he says the last part quietly, and Marc blushes in embarrassment. “However, I have found that it prevents me from dying. Not without side effects however. I fell off a cliff running from a witch-hunting mob before I collapsed here, that is what the injuries were from.”</p><p>Marc nodded, taking this all in with surprise ease. “Can it be reversed?” they ask, and to their surprise, Nathaniel nods.</p><p>“I have tested it, however it is a lot harder and requires much more effort to reverse it. I try my best to do so, but it is far from perfect.”</p><p>They both stare at the painting for a short amount of time, and Marc finally makes the move to reach out. They place their hands delicately on the surface of the paints, before flinching back. “I… don’t want to give you bad news, but either you’re some Dark witch, or Satan literally decided to mess with you.”</p><p>Nathaniel raised his hands. “I always thought the world hated me,” he affirmed, before bringing his hands down. </p><p>Marc stares at him for a short amount of time, and Nathaniel squirms under their gaze. He’s going to be kicked out, be sent to the nearest village and be burned. Marc hates him, and because of this he’s going to really be a witch. He waits for Marc to say something, to do something. For their mouth to at least turn into a scowl. </p><p>Instead, they walk to the garden door. “The basil needs to be watered,” they say, “and would you help check the tomatoes?”</p><p>Nathaniel freezes for a bit, blinking at them. There’s no hint of disgust on their face, they’re actually smiling at him, opening the door and leaving to go out. </p><p>The little paranoid voice in his brain tells him that Marc is standing next to the door ready to strike, but as he walks to the entranceway, Marc is chattering to the herbs and checking them over for any bugs or mold. He relaxes a bit, walking over to the other as he looks over the little green tomatoes, making sure there aren’t any worms or creatures getting through to the greenhouse. There aren’t, Marc is always just a little fearful, but the tomatoes are shiny and big and just starting to turn red. </p><p>He lets go of the last tomato, turning to Marc as they sprinkle water over the thyme. “You really don’t mind?” he says, and they look up at him. </p><p>Marc laughs. “I trust you,” they said, “I would think if you actually were a Dark witch you would have struck by now.”</p><p>Nathaniel shrugs. “That is true, I probably would have.” There’s a silence for a time, and Nathaniel stops himself from scrambling to take his sentence back. Marc stares at him for a bit, trying to form words, before eventually </p><p>“So, should we get back to the plants?” Marc asks, and Nathaniel blushes.</p><p>“Of course,” he says. </p>
<hr/><p>Nathaniel starts to believe he’s overstaying his visit after three months. He sits at the table watching as Marc settles down supper. They had made a few loaves of bread and made a soup from vegetable peelings, which was actually quite good. Marc glanced up at Nathaniel every so often, watching him as Nathaniel ate. He tried not to shiver or squirm. Marc wanted him to leave, it was evident. He couldn’t stay much longer.</p><p>The soup felt like dirt in his mouth as he ate, not engaging in conversation like they would do during mealtimes. Marc placed down their spoon. He braced himself. This was it, Marc was going to tell him they’d had enough. Nathaniel needed to leave. He spent too much time here, and Marc was growing tired of him. “Nath, are you alright?”</p><p>Nathaniel dug his nails into his pants, trying not to blush at the nickname Marc had been using for the past two weeks. He struggled to keep a straight face. He could handle this. It was going to be okay. “I’m fine,” he lies, and avoids Marc's eyes. </p><p>Marc bit their lip, standing up. Nathaniel waits for it. He closes his eyes for a split second. He doesn’t even know why he’s so against leaving, it’s not like Marc owes him anything, if anything he owes something to Marc for helping him. But he really doesn’t want to go. </p><p>It’s so homey here, Nathaniel has gotten used to taking care of the plants and tending the fire and cooking and washing the dishes. It’s so… domestic. And it’s nice.</p><p>“You want to leave,” they state. It’s not a question. </p><p>Nathaniel stares at them for a second, and they hurry on. “I’ve been keeping you here for too long, haven’t I? You want to leave. I’m sorry, I should’ve let you go sooner it’s just so lonely out here and I don’t have many friends in the villages nearby and—”</p><p>But their rambling is cut off as Nathaniel starts to laugh. He gets up, shaking his head and walking away from the table. Marc’s cheeks turn pink, and it’s a gorgeous color, Nathaniel smiles. “Actually, I was worried <em> you </em> were getting tired of <em> me </em>.”</p><p>Marc pauses, frozen on the spot. The blush deepens on their face and they groan. “This is humiliating,” they mumbled, covering their face. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“It’s quite funny if you think about it,” Nathaniel replies, “both of us were scared the other was growing tired of us, when the reality is nowhere close.” </p><p>And there’s a small laugh from Marc, which makes Nathaniel’s stomach twist as he hears it. “I suppose it kind of is,” they reply. “So you really don’t want to leave?” they ask, fiddling with their dress and giving him a slightly scared look.</p><p>Nathaniel pulls Marc’s hands away and into his own, gripping them tightly. He intertwined them, and gives the other a reassuring smile. “I promise you,” he tells them, “I don’t want to go anywhere. I love it here. And I’d like to stay if you would let me.” </p><p>Marc searches his eyes, carefully looking for any lies, anything at all that might suggest he wasn’t serious. Nathaniel holds firm, waiting until Marc green eyes start lighting up as they realize he was telling the truth.</p><p>They duck their head, staring at their hands which are currently intertwined with Nathaniel’s. “I’d like that,” they say softly, and Nathaniel grins. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If I ever have the motivation there’s gonna be a whole universe for this but welcome to the Witch!Marc and Dorian Grey!Nathaniel AU for now.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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